Matters at Hand
by Ars Arpadok
Summary: Cad Bane gets double crossed on a job from Darth Sidious.


_I'm back, with another Bane story, surprise, surprise. My cousin Boba (yes that is his real name, it's not uncommon in Hungary) and I were arguing over whether Lost in Translation could be thought of as something of an emotional prequel to Casablanca, (because the Paris section is weak). Don't ask. Anyway, after he rung off I watched both Casablanca and then some Clone Wars when my better half came home. This story subsequently popped into my head._

_I guess this is a sort of sequel to "Matters of Aesthetics" and "Grey Matters" but I think you'll be able to muddle through without reading those two. Not that I'd object to you checking out the rest of my…um…body of fic. The rating is for violence and language 'cause it's Bane, what were you expecting?_

Disclaimers as always, I own only my original character, am in no manner associated with officially licensed LucasArts/Films entities and will make no money from this story.

* * *

That schutta, that _whore_; _that bitch._

She had double crossed him. Not that he should have been surprised by that but she had _completely_ destroyed the job Darth Sidious had put them on. He was _beyond _dead. What made it worse, she hadn't done it for credits or even to save her own worthless, if very appealing, hide. He could have preserved a tiny sliver of respect for her if that had been the case; oh he'd still shoot her in the face the bare minute he got the chance as pay back but he'd have done it with professional courtesy. Instead the useless little fool had done it, had _planned_ to do it from the start apparently, to buy some two bit, boyfriend leniency from the Republic.

Bane ducked into an alley, kicked open a half corroded door as quickly and quietly as possible and dove into the dark, filthy room behind it. He pressed himself to the dank floor, distracting himself from speculating about what the hell it was tackily covered with by planning the painful, torturous death of Harmat and her lover. Neither of them was going to see more than a standard day outside of Republic custody if he lived through this. The sound of boots on the pavement, growing louder, punctuated by shouting voices made him try to melt into the shadows and filth. He tried to think rat or shadow barnacle thoughts in case there was a Jedi attached to this particular detachment.

They slowed to shine lights down the alley, a few stray beams falling through the chinks in the walls of Bane's hiding place. Several mysterious things scuttled into blacker corners as the sticky darkness fragmented. Bane resisted the urge to do likewise. It seemed he had succeeded in evading the jackboots one more time. The clones moved on. For another ten minutes Bane hardly dared to breathe. He trained every sense toward the street, trying to smell a trap, to feel the return of the search party on his skin. There was nothing but silence; broken by the occasional scream from inside one of the crumbling tenements.

Still Bane held his position. Until he felt something slither wetly around the edge of his collar and lick at the opening to his ear like a slender, pulpy, segmented tongue. With a howl of his own he leapt to his feet and fired at whatever it was, twice. He heard a shriek from somewhere in the walls and saw the long feeler of a conduit worm shoot back into a crack near the floor in the refracted flash of the blaster shot. The amputated end segments writhed against his boot until he crushed it. Again he listened, but his outburst seemed to have gone unnoticed in this particularly hellish section of the underlevels. Deciding that even the uncertain, artificial light of those deep corridors outside was preferable to the utter darkness of this room he slunk toward the barely perceptible glow around the door.

He heard something much larger than a conduit worm stir behind him; begin to move toward him. He bolted, clearing the doorway and nearly slamming into the alley wall in his haste. Spinning and dropping into a defensive crouch, blasters trained on the door he waited. He thought he saw something with very large move inside. Then thick, unaccountably magenta tentacles slid out into the alley and begin to make their way in his direction. He ran again; out of the alley and onto the barely wider road, turning to retreat back the way he had come; goaded on by the imagined sound of running boots and the very real bellow of a disappointed beast behind him.

An hour later, filthy and exhausted with the constant see-saw of adrenaline through his brain he slunk toward one of the smaller, older blast doors that sealed this part of the underlevels off from the slightly more habitable regions above. He thought it must be early morning either just before or just after sunrise, though it was impossible to tell down here. At any rate it was too early for anyone to be gathering at this particular exit to go to one of the markets or the rare piece of legitimate employment nearer the surface. The lone, Weequay guard was dozing on a dirty chair in the excuse for a gatehouse. Bane shot the three droid-wardens on the run, one bolt each to the head. Grabbing the Weequay's greasy braid he hauled him from his chair and slapped the pistol barrel across his face twice, with brutal accuracy, before cramming the barrel hard against the side of his skull.

"Open the doors."

The Weequay grunted stubbornly. Bane kicked the back of his knee savagely; yanking him back to his feet by the braid before he had finished howling.

"Open the kriffing doors barve or I'm gonna do something you'll regret."

"Password," grunted the guard. Under normal circumstances Bane might have felt some rueful admiration for such misguided dedication to duty. Today he shot the fool; first in the elbow and then in the unkicked knee for goo measure, forcing him to stay upright with the braid.

"There's your password. Now get it open." The bounty hunter threw the Weequay away from him. It was almost pitiful how he crawled to the controls and keyed in unlock code. Keeping the gun trained on the guard Bane stalked toward the doors. The Weequay was moaning something at his feet. Bane paused.

"I'll lose it, they find out I let you though. She'll sell me, she will."

Feeling something cold and tight closing under his skin and around his ribs Bane squatted down to look the sobbing creature in the face. He was young Bane realized. It was hard to tell with Weequays but, judging by the length of the braid and the relative shallowness of the wrinkles on his face, this was a boy.

"Who'll sell you?"

"My…my mother. She's gate warden."

Hope made the boy's dark eyes shine brighter than the tears. His voice was thick and wet with pain.

"Take me with you. Leave me on the other side of the gate."

Bane straightened up with a jerk. For a brief second he considered honoring the boy's request. After all, it would keep him from telling anyone who had gone up from here. But there was nothing to guarantee the kid's loyalty and silence once on the outside.

"Nobody gets a free ride kid."

He strode through the doors. As the boy's voice rose behind him, begging. Spinning with a snarl Bane fired once, catching him between the eyes. The body hit the pavement with a dull thump, grey-red blood leaking slowly out of the hole. Bane turned on his heel and walked away, ignoring the sounds of the mutant rats descending on the still warm carcass as the doors slid shut.

Twenty minute of hard running and hopping over the occasional passed out or dead body brought him to one of his smaller bolt holes. He was shedding his clothes for a much needed shower almost before the door finished its locking sequence. Sliding out the 'fresher a long time later he watched it descend to be replaced by the empty food preservation unit. Blinking muzzily he turned in a tight half circle to face the bed, tore the plastoid cover off the automat sheet and fell into it. Before his eyes closed he lifted the chip containing what little information he'd been able to salvage from his boot and slid it under the thin pillow, his fingers resting on top of it. He'd sort out the thorny problem of getting this crumb to Sidious after he'd gotten some damn sleep.

* * *

The room was a pulsing mess of neon tinted reflections from the street below. Bane had long since grown used to the constant half-light and barely noticed. Harmat tended to sleep with her head buried under a pillow but no longer had the energy to complain. Ever since they had shifted their focus from gathering information on Duro to laying subtle traps for Chairman Keggle, and following him to be sure to document every transaction; Bane had been doing his part to wear her out almost every evening. At this point they had more than enough covertly collected evidence of various shady deals to ensure Keggle's full cooperation with the Separatists whenever they needed it. Between the relativly interesting, if non-violent job and the theraputic company Bane was feeling completly recovered from his run in with the Jedi.

As usual she was out cold but he was feeling oddly awake. Ever since they had arrived on Couruscant five days ago he had been unable to shake the feeling that something was off. It didn't feel exactly like they had picked up a tail but he still found himself double checking every room before he entered it and glancing over his shoulder three times as much. Harm, she hated the nickname; which only made him use it more, didn't seem to notice anything but he hadn't survived this long by not being paranoid.

Sliding out of the bed he groped on the floor for his trousers, sliding into them and crossing to the windows with as little noise as possible. Sidling up to the ill hung shutters he scanned the street below. There were the usual clusters of death-stick dealers and prostitutes on opposing corners. The bar directly across from their crumbling hotel seemed to be deeply engrossed in a hot sporting event or a nasty brawl, either way no one seemed to be paying this part of the block any attention at all. An expensive hover car was drifting slowly up the street. It paused first in front of the hookers, admitting an orangey skinned twilek and a darkly complected human before cruising slowly to the dealers. Bane watched the transactions with one eye, still scanning the streets and alleys for anything unusual. Then the car was moving away, toward better neighborhoods. He was about to go back to bed and his nice warm woman when he saw the car slow in front of the lobby entrance directly below. It was only a momentary thing, could be explained by anything, client demanding the driver slow so he could huff the death stick properly, driver distracted by one of the girls; coincidental.

Bane had never believed in coincidence. He shot across the room, gathering up the remainder of his clothing as he went, and summarily tore the thin blankets off Harmat. She came awake with a snarl and took a swipe at him with a five inch knife produced from gods knew where. He snarled right back.

"Get up, we're leaving."

"What the hell for?"

"Just get your kriffing clothes on woman!"

"Fine, calm down Bane. You see something? Someone scoping us out?"

"I don't know but I ain't waiting around to find out. You got two minutes."

She was dressed in half that time. Still strapping a pair of holsters around her hips she followed him silently down the hall and out the fire escape. He paused when they reached the mouth of the alley, keeping her behind him as he scanned the street. The ruckus in the bar was definitely a fight. It was getting louder and had attracted the attention of the street flotsam. He waited until they had drifted over to shriek advice and encouragement at the combatants before slipping out onto the street. He realized she wasn't following him within three steps. He spun, glaring dangerously. She stood with her back pressed to the sharp corner of the speeder rental across the alley from their former rooms. Her eyes flicked back and forth up the street looking strangely silvery in the neon glow of the signs. He stalked to her and grabbed her upper arm with bruising force. Leaning close to her ear he hissed,

"What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation? _Move._"

She started but remained in place. Her voice seemed oddly tremulous.

"Which way did it go?"

"What?"

"The car scoping us, where is it?"

"What did you say?"

He thought she looked pale all of a sudden but it was hard to tell in this light. Her eyes had gotten big and round, though. The pieces fell into gut-churning order in his as she spoke again.

"The car…where…"

"I never said anything about a car."

"Sure you did, in the room. You said a car had scoped us."

"I told you to get dressed."

"Ban-"

He grabbed her by the throat and slammed her into the streaked permacrete of the garage. Her eyes showed white all the way around. Her thin hands scrapped his fingers, her sharp nails drawing blood. He hung on. She began to wheeze. He squeezed harder and leaned close to her, voice soft with rage.

"I crack your skull on the headboard too hard? You're not gonna live long enough to spend whatever they promised you, you little idiot."

He loosened his grip on her neck but kept her pinned to the wall with his body, face locked in a snarl of bitterness and fear. She hacked painfully and rubbed at the marks already livid on her skin. Her voice was raw when she managed to speak.

"What do _you _care if I die Bane?"

He hit her, her head striking the wall audibly as it snapped around.

"I _don't_. You cock up this job and it's _me_ going down with you. Or had you forgotten who we work for?"

"I got a better offer."

"That offer to got enough attached so you can get out of the galaxy? Nobody's got pockets that deep."

"We won't need to get out of anywhere. With what I've given them we can pick where we go."

"Between the Seps and the Jackboots you ain't gonna get far girl."

She glared, her chin jutting out defiantly. He paused, comprehension dawning. Grabbing her shoulders savagely, he shook her as hard as he could; her head flopping bonelessly. He could barely hiss the words, his face touching hers in a violent mockery of their encounter earlier that night.

"You sold us to the _Republic? _I thought you were smarter than that. You think they're gonna save your pretty ass from _him _when he finds out? You really think I'm gonna run with you?"

"It won't matter if he finds out. They're gonna hide us. I got it in writing, signed and sealed and _legal_; and I'm not going anywhere with _you."_

"What?"

Suddenly he felt a cold barrel slide along his skull. A familiarly accented voice spoke softly near his ear.

"Put the lady down and step away, hands up bounty hunter."

Thinking fast, Bane complied. Turning slowly to take in the clone looking out of place in his civilian clothes, he then glanced up the street. The car was back; stopped a hundred yards away, blocking the top of the street. He could see figures moving behind it, bulkily armored figures. Guessing he had a minute to extricate himself he still found himself unable to stop needling Harmat.

"You really are stupid. Bargaining with the Republic?" he hissed out of the corner of his mouth. She glared at him sideways, around her own raised hands.

"You don't know anything Bane."

"You really think that agreement's gonna hold, after what you've been doing? They're gonna lock you up forever."

"No they're not. They can't, it's how they work. I had a lawyer draw up a contract and everything. They get the details of this job and they let us go, no strings. They lose our files and we're free."

She flashed what had been his favorite, wicked smile. He felt his guts squirm in an unsettling combination of the usual anticipation but mixed liberally now with a galling fury. Her voice took on that sexy, needling rasp he had first heard her use.

"That 500,000 cred pay day from your capture's gravy."

He nearly spat.

"Who promised you this, that green dwarf Jedi?"

"The Chancellor himself. Face it Bane, I win. You're vaped."

The clone gestured menacingly with the pistol, eyes mostly on the suddenly silent cantina.

"Shut it, both of you."

Apparently the fight was less interesting than this little drama. The other side of the street was lined with wary looking people. The clone looked toward his still milling comrades. Seeing his chance Bane lunged, knocking the clone to the ground and stealing the pistol in one smooth motion. He was about to shoot the man when Harmat suddenly jumped him, knocking his shot wide. It barely missed a hooker. He spun on her, ready to give her his next bolt but she had her own gun trained on him.

Her eyes were wilder than her hair. Strangely he found his eyes drawn to a bruise on her neck, darker than the imprint of his fingers; the imprint of his teeth. He suddenly felt the slight sting of his own most recent collection of bedroom bruises. The memories they sparked made him angrier. His finger tightened on the trigger. Hers twitched in response. He saw something beyond desperation in her eyes, still seeming too pale in the lurid light. He tried to muster an arrogant smirk. It felt more like and enraged, painful leer. His voice sounded oddly tight to his own ears.

"Who you running with Harm?"

She swallowed. The sounds at the top of the street told him he had about twenty seconds before the soldiers got to them. She snarled.

"You _care?_"

She squeezed the trigger. He was faster but at the last possible second, for no reason he would be able to explain, even to himself, he dropped the barrel. The bolt took her very low in the gut, right across the pelvis. She screamed, her shot blasting his hat off his head. The sound of boots increased from a jog to a sprint. Swearing Bane took off in the other direction, dodging into the crowd.

* * *

He woke to the insistent buzzing of his comlink. Dragging himself into a sitting position Bane keyed it on but left the holographic projector inactive. Darth Sidious's voice crackled through the tiny room.

"I am growing disenchanted with your continued failure Bane."

Still too tired to be much afraid Bane answered in a flat, insolent voice.

"Maybe next time you should check the backgrounds of your…minders more carefully."

Sidious's voice was a silky, deadly croon.

"What?"

"Harmat betrayed you…my lord. She junked the job for an offer from the Chancellor to get her and some useless man of hers a new life."

"I was aware of that fact—"

Awake now and annoyed Bane risked his employer's displeasure again, confident in his last barging chip.

"Lucky for you she didn't make off with _everything_. I still got enough dirt on the Chairman to put him in your pocket, as requested. As for the rest, I'm sure there are blueprints for Jyvus _somewhere."_

"You will give my agents that chip."

"Oh, I think not. I'm feeling a bit shy at the moment. Forgive me for speaking so bluntly, but the truth is your agents ain't done too well by either of us."

Sidious snarled. Bane almost shivered. Feeling reckless, he pressed on.

"I know someone…I can leave the data chip with. He runs a little place in the entertainment district, Kir's CafeTelian."

"A friend of yours, Bane and how do you know he can be trusted?"

"A friend," mused Bane. "I suppose he is. He's the only man I know with the honesty to openly despise me and so you might say he is the only man on Couruscant I can truly trust."

"I am taking an awful risk Bane…"

"It will be there by," he glanced at the chrono on the wall, "nine this evening. I'll let Kir know you'll be sending someone to collect it. Oh, and be sure to let them know to give him a little something for his trouble."

Sidious said nothing for a long moment; but Bane was not fearless or foolish enough to break the connection first. Finally, the Sith Lord spoke.

"Very well."

The com went dead. Bane sighed with relief and scrubbed his hands over his face. The drop time gave him another three hours to sleep if he wanted to but his eyes refused to stay closed. Grumbling under his breath he got up and began to haul his clothing back on. Kir's stocked a fine selection of his preferred Dornean brandy and planning bloody revenge over a glass of fine liquor in a friendly bar was one of life's greatest luxuries.

Bane smiled.

* * *

_Why yes, Cad Bane is sleeping in Corbin Dallas's apartment; because I'm creatively bankrupt (as if you couldn't tell that from the quotes shamelessly cribbed from classic films). Also, my cousin is a 38 year old banker in Budapest with terrible allergies and myopia who, as far as I know, has never touched gun or anything more menacing than a kitchen knife. Sorry all._


End file.
